


sub-zero

by inbetweenfractals



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, Tucker-centric, because that is the only Danny I accept, in which the friends were not in on it, revelation fic, trans!Danny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbetweenfractals/pseuds/inbetweenfractals
Summary: Something's up with Danny. Well, okay, so we've known this for a while. We just kinda hoped he'd tell us, y'know? We've only been friends since forever.But that was a while ago. Since the beginning of freshman year, our friendship cooled, and I don't know why. It's the end of sophomore year now. What's worse, without Danny, Sam and I have less to talk about. Whenever we hang out, there's heavy, awkward silences.It just plain old sucks.





	sub-zero

"Did we have to pick the library? I'm hungry," I whine.

Sam rolls her eyes and steam rolls over my protest with, "It's quiet, so no one will overhear. Besides, it's not like Danny ever comes in here."

"Yeah, but I can't think when I'm hungry."

"And I can't think when you're guzzling meat burgers like they're going outta style, so we're just about even. Besides, we both know who's the brains of this operation."

The last bit was in a joking tone, so I can't help but take mock offense. "I resent that statement! And resemble it. Besides, how dare you besmirch the noble Nasty Burger with thoughts of fashion mortality?"

"I'm a goth," she says, deadpan. "Comes with the program. Come on, Tuck, we need to figure this out."

"Sure," I say. I wonder if Sam is thinking that we've tried this before and gotten nowhere too. Probably not. She's not so much optimistic as she won't ever let herself get discouraged. Kinda amazing, really.

"Item the first," I read, "always running off somewhere."

"And always when there's ghosts around. Don't forget that."

"Yeah," I mumble, writing it down. "I don't think I've ever seen him in the same room as a ghost. Have you?"

"No, don't think so. Think he's afraid of them?"

"Sam, his parents are the freaking  _ Fentons _ . Shouldn't he be the most prepared of, like, anybody? Well, as prepared as he ever is..."

"I seriously don't know if having them as parents would help or not." Sam shrugged and looked a little uncomfortable. "I mean, my parents haven't exactly made me into the perfect debutante."

"You should find a goth debutante support group or something. Or found it."

"Great idea, but I'll pass, thanks. Anyway, that brings me to our second point," Sam says, tapping the list with a purple fingernail. "He's definitely tanking his classes. Which is weird, cause he's not stupid."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure he still wants to be an astronaut. Got a new NASA pin for his backpack last week, at least. But you need good grades to be an astronaut and he's sleeping through all his classes."

"Why would he allow himself to fail like that?" 

"How should I know?" I shrug. "Anything else on that?"

Sam shakes her head.

"Okay, let's see. Always wears long sleeves and jeans. It's freaking hot out now too. Almost summer, man."

“Woman.”

“Okay, but ‘It’s almost summer, woman’ sounds like an abusive husband or something.”

Sam pauses, then says, “How about we stay away from gendered language?”

“Okay, okay, sure. Anyway, long sleeves. It’s hot and he definitely can’t be comfortable in them.”

"He must be hiding something under there."

"Like what? Injuries? That doesn't make sense. The Fentons are super nice people so they can't be doing anything. And everybody knows Dash beats on him, cause Dash beats on anyone smaller than him. Which is just about everybody."

Sam's voice is quiet. "I don't know, Tuck. I was thinking something worse."

"Something  _ worse _ ?  _ Worse  _ than the Fentons are evil?"

"Like...needle marks or knife scars or..."

My stomach lurches uneasily. "No. I can't believe that, Sam." Or maybe not so much  _ can't _ as  _ won't _ . I don't really want to think about the possibility. Danny couldn't be doing any of  _ that.  _ Sam and I, we wouldn't have let something like that get that far, right? We'd notice, definitely. Definitely.

"So what explains it then?" She asks, temper flaring. "Why would he cover his arms if there wasn't anything to hide?"

"Wait, Sam, that's it! We just need to see what he's hiding, aka uncover his arms. Then we can figure it out!"

And so begins our grand plan to figure out what Danny is hiding - first his arms, and from that we can figure out the whole shebang. We do everything we can think of. We ask him to the pool, we emphasize the near-summer heat, we roll up our sleeves whenever he sees us. None of it works. 

So maybe I'm getting a little fed up. I mean, we were best friends, and it kills me to say  _ were.  _ Now he's distant, Sam's drifting, and who do I have left? My PDA, that's who. While I do love it dearly, I want my friends back.

I'm sick and tired of this! I just want everything to go back to the way it was, when I had my friends and never thought that would change.

 

Finally, we go on the offensive.

After first period math, Danny is still asleep at his desk. Everyone else has already gone out to break. Sam and I stand over him.

"Ready," Sam mouths at me.

I nod, grab his sleeve, and rip it upward. Danny startles awake immediately, but not before we've seen what's up with his arms:

His arm is a mess of greenish-blue bruises and silvery scars, a handful of peeling band-aids, leaving behind dark, sticky residue. Up near the crook of his elbow, there's a line of,  _ is it really, oh my god _ , honest to god stitches, blackened with dried blood.

I feel nauseous. Whatever Sam lead me to expect, it wasn’t this.

Danny stares at us, then at his arm. When he looks up at us again, he looks  _ terrified.  _ Not just a little freaked out, but full-on I-can-see-my-death-coming-and-it-won't-be-pretty scared. 

The room temperature drops. I don't mean metaphorically. I mean I can literally see my breath fog in front of my face.

"Danny," Sam says. She looks scared too, in a wide eyed sort of way. I probably look the same. "We, um, we just wanted to know what is going on."

Danny's expression abruptly morphs into anger. The room feels even colder. My fingers are freezing; Sam's look vaguely blue. There's something wrong with his  _ eyes.  _ I swear they're glowing a poisonous green.

But that's impossible.

"Why couldn't you just stay out of it?" Danny shouts. "You're gonna, you're gonna mess everything up!"

And, abruptly, he’s gone. Just like that. No flash of light, no smoke.

He’s just gone.

Sam and I don't know what to say. Even though she always has opinions and I always have jokes, we say nothing more than  _ see you tomorrow _ .

I go home and do my homework. At dinner, Mom asks me what's wrong. I shrug and take another bite. It’s that terrible cabbage casserole again. Then I wash up, complete my homework, and go to bed.

 

The next day, Danny approaches me at break.  _ Danny.  _ The boy who actively avoids Sam and me, who bypasses introverted by far and hits withdrawn now, the boy who disappeared yesterday.

I'm still not sure I believe that. I mean, that's impossible, right? Maybe I'm just sleep deprived.

But Danny is rubbing his neck and mumbling, "So, uh, so yesterday was... I guess I never told you guys, but don’t worry, it's not like a big deal or anything but well, uh, my parents say it's like ectoplasmic radiation or something. Like, um, like from the...the lab or something. So, so I'm sorry. Sorry to you both cause I didn't mean to freak you out or anything..."

"Look, man," I say, "Something's definitely up. Ectoplasmic whatever doesn’t explain those scars. We just want to know what’s wrong, what we can do to help. Nothing’s too big, okay? And then we can all be friends again, right?”

Danny looks up at that. His eyes seem impossibly wide, shadows under them as dark as bruises. I try not to shudder. There’s no trace of the green from yesterday, though. Maybe that’s good. Maybe we'll be okay. “N-no! We can’t!”

Oh. Or...or not.

My face must look weird, because Danny attempts to backtrack. “No, I mean, we, we, we’ve always been friends, that’s....that’s not different!” His voices cracks. “Sorry! I mean, sorry, I’m sorry. Look, I, I have to go. Sorry, Tuck. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t really know what to say. I just watch him bob his head, rub his neck with a shaking hand, and run off. 

 

When I see Sam at lunch, she grabs my shirt and pulls me aside to an empty hallway. “Did Danny talk to you?” she hisses. “Tell you about ‘ectoplasmic radiation’ or whatever but not really tell you anything?”

“Yeah, he did. Sam - Sam, I can’t breathe, you’re strangling me!” I shriek.

She drops my collar and steps back. “Sorry, Tucker. I didn’t mean to...I’m just so  _ mad _ , you know? He comes to me, says something, but the whole time I can tell he’s just doing it to shut me up!”

Sam is barreling towards full-on rant mode. While I think she gains, like, twenty levels of strength like that, she’ll get so caught up in it that nothing good will happen. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , Sam…”

She grabs my shirt again. So much for derailment. “Yeah, sure he didn’t,” Sam spits, purple eyes dark. I’m almost afraid she’ll start spitting fire. “Why else would he seek us out when he has barely talked to us in a year?”

And I remember Danny’s panicked face, how he said we couldn’t be friends again. His anger, his green eyes, his story of  _ ectoplasmic radiation from the lab _ . If that were the case, why didn’t anything change with his family? Why wasn’t Jazz’s skin turning blue, or their parents walking through walls? How could only Danny have ectoplasmic radiation? 

Bruises, band-aids, stitches, scars. Old scars. Glowing green eyes.  _ Why couldn’t you just stay out of it? _

“He’s lying to us,” I mutter. In a louder voice, I say, “Maybe you’re right, Sam.”

“Mmhm,” she says. I pry her fingers off my shirt. Girl has a grip like a bear trap, I swear to God. Her gaze is distant for a moment before it sharpens again and she snarls, “You know what? I am so  _ sick _ of this. We’ve let it go on and on, but now I am done. I’m done! We are going to get to the bottom of this. I don’t care if we don’t sleep for a week; we’re going to follow him until we figure it out.”

“You mean stalk him,” I say. A glare. I hold up my hands. “Okay, creepiness aside, that’s impossible. What about classes? And we can’t go into his house - it’s like a fortress and I bet we aren’t coded into the current systems. Plus, none of our parents will allow us to be out all night.”

Sam puts her hands on her hips. Her elbows jut out like spears. “I don’t know about classes, but we can just sneak out of our houses. And I bet you could hack FentonWorks.”

“Hack FentonWorks?” I splutter. “The Fentons are geniuses with technology! I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can, and you will. Didn’t you say that their skill lies with hardware and yours with software? Isn’t the coding of who’s okayed by the weapons system a software deal?”

“Well, yeah, but - ”

“Then you can do it.”

I glare at her but it doesn’t even put a dent into her armor. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sam.”

“Well?”

“Fine, fine! I’ll do it, okay?”

“Great!” Sam grins. Ugh, I hate it when she does this, just steamrolls over everything.

I guess it’s for a good cause though.

Maybe, after all this, we will have Danny back.


End file.
